Growing up, Betsy Brooks had a turbulent relationship with her father, Charles. He was a military man and ruled his household with a firm hand. Years later, when he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, their relationship took a turn.

Here, Brooks tells her boyfriend, John Grecsek, about her relationship with her father.

From the 1940s through the 1960s, the Catskill Mountains in upstate New York were a popular summer escape from New York City. The resorts needed entertainment, and talent agents like Jack Segal made their living booking comedians, singers, and novelty acts there.

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Deep in the North Woods of Wisconsin sits the world’s largest rotating-globe planetarium. It’s the brainchild of Frank Kovac, a former paper mill storeroom clerk, who built this roadside attraction in his backyard over a ten-year period.

Here, Frank talks about how his lifelong fascination turned into a life-size project.

When Earl Reynolds Jr. was 11 years old, he shined shoes at his father's barbershop in Roanoke, Va. Here he tells his daughter, Ashley, about a valuable lesson he learned from a customer -- the late James Brown.

Harvey Sherman tells his friend Alex Reisner about the "shot heard 'round the world," when the Brooklyn Dodgers lost the pennant to the New York Giants on Oct. 3, 1951. Sherman was a teenager at the time and was rooting for the Dodgers.

When John Hunter started teaching more than 30 years ago, he wanted to get his students to think about major world issues.

So he invented the World Peace Game. Students are divided into countries, then Hunter gives them a series of global crises — natural disasters, political conflicts — that they solve by collaborating with each other.

Hunter’s classes are remarkably successful at resolving the crises peacefully, a fact made all the more remarkable because his students are in 4th grade.

Hunter recently sat down for StoryCorps with a two former World Peace Game players: 11-year-old Julianne Swope and 20-year-old Irene Newman.

Nathan Hoskins knew from an early age that he was gay. But he quickly learned to keep that a secret. Nathan grew up in rural Kentucky, in a family that didn’t tolerate homosexuality. At StoryCorps, he told his friend Sally Evans just how dangerous it was to be himself.

In 2004, Kate Musick was teaching third grade at T.C. Walker Elementary school in Gloucester, Virginia. When Harleé Patrick walked into the room, Musick saw a troubled child.

Harleé is now a teenager, and the two came to StoryCorps to talk about how she made it through that year.

The second story comes from Los Angeles, where 19-year-old Jose Catalan, who is studying to become a math teacher, sat down with his former high school teacher Carlos Vizcarra to talk about how they became friends.

In an attempt to “fix” her son, Connie sent Samuel to a series of conversion therapy ministries affiliated with Exodus International -- The “ex-gay” Christian organization that folded in June 2013 and apologized for promoting reparative therapies.

Now, 22, Samuel came to StoryCorps with his mom to talk about that experience.

Liza Long’s 13--year--old son was first diagnosed with mental illness when he was 8 years old. He struggles with rage and violent outbursts.

In late December 2012, in the wake of the shootings in Newtown, Connecticut, Liza wrote a blogpost, “I am Adam Lanza's Mother,” in which she urged the country to focus on treatment for mentally ill youth.

She wrote, “I love my son, but he terrifies me.”

At StoryCorps, Liza sat down with her son. (His real name and image have been withheld to protect his privacy.)

Thompson Williams grew up in Oklahoma as one of eight children. His father, Melford Williams, was a tribal leader of the Caddo Nation and a World War II veteran who had a big impact on Thompson’s life.

At StoryCorps, Thompson’s son, Kiamichi-tet, sat down with his dad to learn more about his grandfather.

Antero Garcia (R) taught Roger Alvarez (L) in his 9th grade English class at Manual Arts High School in Los Angeles.

That year, the school’s graduation rate was just 42 percent, and Roger was one of the students who didn’t make it through his senior year.

Roger dropped out in 2007 and hadn’t seen his former teacher until the two of them sat down together at StoryCorps.

When they recorded this interview, Roger was working the night shift at a loading dock, and he said he hopes to get his GED one day. Antero Garcia is now an Assistant Professor of English at Colorado State University.

In 2003, Kris Kalberer left her job as a retail manager to raise her kids and care for her elderly mother. The family did well on her husband’s income from his job at Countrywide. But he lost his job in the mortgage crisis. Their finances spiraled out of control, and they lost their house in 2011.

Since then they’ve lived with friends and in motels. Currently, the family lives in their car.

At StoryCorps, Kris sat down with her teenage daughter, Erika Kalberer, to talk about their situation.

Storm Reyes grew up in migrant farm worker camps outside Tacoma, Washington during the early 1960s. Most of the laborers were, like Storm, Native Americans. They were paid less than one dollar per hour for their work in berry patches and apple orchards throughout the state.

Storm started working as a full-time laborer herself when she was 8 years old. Her family lived without electricity or running water. But at StoryCorps she told her son, Jeremy Hagquist, about the day something arrived in camp that changed the course of her life.

Dr. Couney pioneered the use of incubators to keep premature infants alive in the late 1800s. But the medical establishment initially rejected the practice. So, each summer for 40 years, Dr. Couney funded his work by setting up an exhibition of the babies and charging the public admission.

Parents didn’t have to pay for the medical care, and many children survived who would have never had a chance otherwise.

Ninety-five-year-old Lucille Horn was one of them. Here, she tells her daughter, Barbara, about spending the summer of 1920 in an incubator on Coney Island.

Since 2003, we have broadcast hundreds of conversations that were recorded in booths across the country, but this week, for the first time, we present one recorded in the front seat of a 1994 Buick.

Last month, Kara Masteller, 21, and her grandfather James Kennicott, sat together in a Waterloo, Iowa, mall parking lot and conducted a StoryCorps interview. They chose this location because James, who is 86 and resides in a local senior living facility, had no interested in sharing his business with any of the other people who live alongside him.

Their 16-minute long interview begins simply with Kara saying to her grandfather, “Tell me about yourself, where did you grow up?”

From there, Kara, the youngest of James’ 10 grandchildren, was able to get a man she described as unaccustomed to opening up about his life to briefly discuss his difficult upbringing. He then talked in greater detail about his beloved wife, Annie, who passed away in 2012, his work as a supervisor at the John Deere factory, the loss of his eldest son Chuck who suffered with Lou Gehrig’s disease, as well as his thoughts on life and advice for others as they age.

In a separate interview with StoryCorps, Kara, a senior at the University of Iowa, remembered her grandfather as once being an intimidating figure in her life, but as they have both grown older and maintained their close relationship, she now sees him as fun, protective, and loving. He’s a man who enjoys joking around, dancing, shooting pool, and playing the penny slots at a local casino.

During their conversation, James also offers Kara advice on a happy marriage, “You gotta kinda like each other…if something happened just say ‘I’m sorry’ and get it over with and make up,” because “when you get married, it’s kind of like the two of you are one. You think the same.” And on life in general, advising her to “keep it so the days don’t just go by and that’s all there is, a boring old day…let life roll on…it goes fast.” You need to “roll with age, don’t worry about it, it’s coming. Enjoy life, it’s wonderful.”

According to Kara, after their recording ended, James continued to share memories with her about Annie before they grabbed a cup of coffee and headed over to the casino to play the penny slots together.

With her mother away, Chloe spent a great deal of time at her grandparents’ home becoming especially close with her grandmother, Doris Louise Rolison.

Despite living in the Arizona desert, Doris, who died in May, 1988, at the age of 67, maintained a lush garden of herbs and vegetables. Chloe would help harvest the food to make dishes from recipes found in one of her grandmother’s treasured cookbooks.

At StoryCorps, Chloe remembers the happy memories and life lessons taught to her by her grandmother, many of which took place while cooking in Doris’ kitchen.

Henry Jimenez and Akiva Johnson, both 17, are classmates and close friends at the High School for Youth and Community Development in the Flatbush section of Brooklyn. Now juniors, they met freshman year while participating in StoryCorpsU.

StoryCorpsU is an interactive year-long program for high school students that utilizes StoryCorps interviewing techniques, radio broadcasts, and animated shorts to support the development of identity and social intelligence in students. One aim is to help teachers better appreciate and understand students as whole people by encouraging teens to share their experiences outside of the classroom with those in the classroom.

In their StoryCorps conversation, Akiva and Henry discuss the challenges they have had to confront in their daily lives, and how grateful they both are for the support—often unknowingly—they have provided each other, by sharing stories they have never before told.

While they were talking, Akiva revealed that in October 2012, after Hurricane Sandy devastated much of the eastern coast of the United States, he and his mother were displaced from their home. They spent parts of the next three years in homeless shelters across New York City—including last Christmas—something Henry was unaware of.

Henry has also had to overcome difficulties. When he was 13 he left Mexico and came to the United States to live with an aunt, leaving behind his parents and younger brother. The challenges faced by a young boy coming to an unfamiliar country were eased by the support he received from Akiva.

They both expect that their friendship, which was forged in school by having the opportunity to open up and share personal stories, will endure—even after Henry follows his dream and enlists in the Marine Corps.

Last year, 11--year--old Benny Smith began feeling strange sensations in his body that felt like small electrical jolts. Soon after, the jolts began lasting longer and growing more intense--Benny was suffering with grand mal seizures (a condition characterized by loss of consciousness and muscle spasms).

The seizures would come at various times, including during the school day where the resulting falls led to multiple concussions.

Often, his mother, Christine Ristaino, would have to pick him up in the middle of the day and bring him home since his condition made it unsafe for him to be in a classroom. Soon after the beginning of sixth grade, Benny was forced to remain at home, being taught by a tutor. An outgoing social kid who loved being around his friends, to him this was one of the most difficult parts of the illness.

But more recently, his condition has begun to improve, and in January, he was able to return to the classroom. Benny and his mom, Christine, came to StoryCorps to mark the occasion and discuss how he has lived with the seizures.

On June 5, 1989, Sean Smith, 10, and his younger sister Erin, 8, returned home together from school. Alone in their empty house, they went into their parents’ bedroom in search of video game cartridges that their mother had previously hidden away.

But instead of finding the games, Sean came across a .38-caliber revolver that was being kept in his father’s dresser drawer. Sean began playing with the gun, and unaware that it was loaded, he pulled the trigger, fatally shooting Erin in the chest. Sean immediately called 911, and that recording of him–pleading for help for his dying sister–was played repeatedly on news stations across the country. (Note: the audio contains a segment of the 911 call.)

Within two weeks of Erin’s shooting, a total of five Florida children were accidentally shot with their parents’ guns, leading the state legislature to pass a gun safety bill punishing anyone who leaves a firearm within reach of a child.

Sean, now 36, has lived with constant pain and guilt as a result of what happened that day. His parents have also had a difficult time coming to terms with the loss of their youngest child. Sean came to StoryCorps with his mother, Lee (seen together above), to discuss the day of the shooting, and how they have tried to cope with the burden of going on with their lives following an unimaginable personal tragedy.

Vito de la Cruz’s parents were already separated when he was born, and when he was 6 months old, his father left him in the care of his 19-year-old aunt, Iris de la Cruz, a woman he called Nena.

Vito’s extended family traveled the migrant trail, finding work on farms across the United States. At 5 years old, Vito joined them in the fields. He remembers the excitement of traveling in the summers with his aunts, uncles, and grandmother from tomato fields in South Texas, to cherry orchards in Ohio, and sugar beet farms in North Dakota. During the days, they worked side-by-side, and in the evenings, they gathered together for dinner.

But their family’s migrant lifestyle was not easy; it was “equal parts hardship and poverty.” When he was 13, Border Patrol agents raided the farm where Vito and his family were working and rounded up undocumented workers. Witnessing workers’ fear of law enforcement struck a “profound chord in his being” and changed the course of his life.

Vito had always excelled in school, with Nena’s encouragement. She, herself, was the first person in the de la Cruz family to graduate high school, and she later went on to college. Following Nena’s example, Vito left South Texas for Yale University and then went on to attend law school at the University of California, Berkeley.

After law school, Vito began volunteering with the United Farm Workers union and focused the early part of his legal career on immigrant and farmworker rights. Years later, he became a federal public defender in Nevada before moving to Bellevue, Washington, where he continues to practice civil rights law.

Vito came to StoryCorps with his wife, Maria Sefchick-Del Paso, to remember how his childhood and his loving Nena shaped his future.

Chris López always knew there was something different about her youngest child Gabe. Assigned female at birth, Gabe always felt like he was a boy.

Gabe was always more comfortable in clothes traditionally worn by little boys (cargo pants and superhero shirts), but often switched back and forth between those and outfits often worn by little girls. Just after his seventh birthday, he convinced his parents to let him cut off his long hair and get a Mohawk—a haircut he had been wanting for years. This is also about the time that Gabe started dressing only as a boy and answering exclusively to “he” and not “she.”

At first, Chris was concerned that Gabe, being so young, might change his mind. She was scared of how people would treat him as he transitioned. But after seeing how Gabe responded to the changes in his hair and clothing, she felt confident that he had made the right decision.

Last summer, their family attended a camp for transgender, gender creative, and gender non-conforming youth in Tucson, Arizona. There, Gabe met similar kids and made three new best friends—Luke, Cooper, and Brock (who among other things taught Gabe how to pee standing up).

Gabe, who will soon be nine years old, has been attending the same school since kindergarten, and this past August when he started third grade, for the first time, he began having others refer to him by his preferred gender pronouns—”he” and “him.”

Gabe and his mother (pictured in the player above) recently came to the StoryCorps MobileBooth to talk about what it’s been like for him to be transgender, and his fears about the future.

When Francisco Preciado was six years old, his family moved from Mexico to the California. They entered the United States through the Bracero program, which, starting in 1942 and lasting more than 20 years, allowed Mexican workers to come to the U.S. to take temporary agricultural jobs.

At the time, Francisco spoke only Spanish, but he quickly learned English with the help of his teachers. This led him to dream of one day becoming a teacher himself, but financial demands and the need to support his family forced him to drop out of school and begin working full-time.

In the early 1980s, he took a job as a groundskeeper at Stanford University and was often accompanied to the college by his young son Frankie. Francisco hoped that one day Frankie would become a student at Stanford, and his dream came true with Frankie graduating from the university in 2007 with degrees in political science and Chicano(a) Studies.

Now 31 years old, Frankie is the executive director of the union that represents Stanford’s service and technical workers, and whose membership also includes his father.

Francisco and Frankie came to StoryCorps to talk about their relationship and their time together at Stanford—one as a maintenance man, the other as a student.

Bill Sayenga’s father died when he was just four years old leaving behind his mother, Marie, and his older sister Louise.

In order to support her family, Marie found a job with the Allegheny County, Pennsylvania, recorder of deeds office as a secretary, but her pay—about a dollar an hour and just over $2,000 a year—was miserable. Although it allowed her to provide a home for her family, the money was only enough for them to just get by.

For 11 years Marie worked at the recorder of deeds’ office, and according to Louise, she hated it. But for all that the job lacked, it did provide Marie with insights into the inner workings of her local government. She recognized the need for change and in 1949, Marie ran for tax collector in the borough of Bethel.

Being both a woman and a Democrat made her a long shot. For over 50 years, men had been elected tax collector, and for the previous 24, Merle Long held the office. Marie lost that first race, but in 1953 she made a second run and unseated Long by just nine votes.

Marie would hold onto the job for the next 24 years, winning five subsequent elections. In 1973, in her final race, she received more votes than anyone else on the ballot running for any office in the borough.

Marie died in February 1993 at the age of 83.

Bill came to StoryCorps with Marie’s granddaughter, Ellen Riek (pictured above), to remember their family’s influential and powerful matriarch.

Those questions immediately became a sound bite and a punchline for late night comedians, and for millions of Americans, they defined a man they knew little about.

Adm. Stockdale’s legacy goes far beyond a few sentences spoken at a debate. Over the course of his Naval career, he earned 26 combat awards including two Distinguished Flying Crosses, three Distinguished Service Medals, two Purple Hearts, four Silver Stars, and in 1976 President Gerald Ford presented him with our nation’s highest military honor, the Medal of Honor.

In 1947, Adm. Stockdale graduated from the United States Naval Academy, and in 1965, then-Captain Stockdale’s plane was shot down over North Vietnam. He was then captured and brought to the Hoa Lo Prison, infamously referred to as the Hanoi Hilton.

Being the highest-ranking Naval officer held prisoner of war, he became a leader among the other POWs establishing a code of conduct to help keep them from being used by the North Vietnamese for propaganda purposes. Adm. Stockdale, who was forced to wear leg irons for two years while held captive, at one point slashed his own face with a razor to keep from being put on camera, and according to his Medal of Honor citation, he once used glass from a broken window to slit his own wrist in order to “convince his captors of his willingness to give up his life rather than capitulate.”

During his seven and a half years as a POW, Adm. Stockdale was able to send letters to his wife, Sybil, in California. Quickly, she figured out his correspondences contained coded messages and she coordinated with the CIA to continue their communications while her husband was held captive.

Sybil herself was a force to be reckoned with. She was a vocal advocate for the families of POWs and soldiers missing in action at a time when the United States government followed a “keep quiet” policy, asking relatives of POWs not to call attention to their family members (this policy was primarily for public relations purposes). And as a response, she helped found the National League of Families of American Prisoners Missing in Southeast Asia, a nonprofit organization that is still active today as The National League of POW/MIA Families.

In 1979, Sybil was awarded the U.S. Navy Department’s Distinguished Public Service Award, presented to civilians for specific courageous or heroic acts. The citation that accompanied the honor noted, “Her actions and indomitable spirit in the face of many adversities contributed immeasurably to the successful safe return of American prisoners, gave hope, solace and support to their families in a time of need and reflected the finest traditions of the Naval service and of the United States of America.”

In July 2005, Adm. Stockdale died at the age of 81, and in October 2015, Sybil died at the age of 90. They are buried alongside each other at the United States Naval Academy Cemetery in Annapolis, Maryland.

Their son, Jim, who was a teenager at the time of his father’s capture, came to StoryCorps with his friend, Jasey Schnaars, to talk about his mother’s strength as they waited for his father’s return home.

As far back as he can recall Hans Walters loved sharks. As a child growing up just outside of New Orleans, Louisiana, in the 1970s, he would spend hours flipping through the encyclopedia memorizing details about the many different types of sharks.

Hans’ love of sharks led him to attend college in Florida at the University of Miami where he earned his degree in Marine Biology, ZToyz live in NYCbut that career was put on hold when, in 1982, he became the lead singer of the Miami-based metal band ZToyz.

Hans spent the next nine years fronting ZToyz as they opened for huge stars like Joan Jett & the Blackhearts, the Ramones, and Humble Pie. The video for their song, “Miami Breakdown,” played on MTV, and Twisted Sister frontman Dee Snider covered one of their songs on a solo album.

In the early 1990s, ZToyz broke up and Hans decided it was time to do something new with his life. Putting his degree to use, he applied for a job at the Wildlife Conservation Society, and his love for sharks was rekindled. He went on to earn his Masters degree in Marine Biology and is now a shark researcher and supervisor at the New York Aquarium on Coney Island in Brooklyn, New York.

But Hans hasn’t left rock and roll entirely behind, before he arrived at the aquarium, the sharks were given names like Sand Tiger Shark 1, Sand Tiger Shark 2, and Sand Tiger Shark 3. Hans started referring to them as “dirty stinkin’ rock and rollers,” and these days they’re named a bit differently. Visitors now spend time with Axl, Duff, and the rest of Guns N’ Roses as well as Janis Joplin and members of AC/DC and Bad Company.

Years ago, hanging out on the Coney Island boardwalk with Dee Snider, Dee told him he always admired that Hans had a backup plan if his career in music didn’t work out. Hans’ response: “Music was the backup plan. Marine biology was the original plan.”

The New York Aquarium is also where Hans met animal behaviorist Martha Hiatt, now his wife. They came to StoryCorps to talk about his unusual career trajectory and how much of his life was actually motivated by his love of sharks.

Growing up, Alice Mitchell was always very close with her mother Rosemary Owolabi. A Nigerian immigrant as proud of her heritage as she was of her children, Rosemary would pick Alice up from school dressed in vibrantly colored garments and head-wraps.

When Alice was 14, her mother died unexpectedly from cardiac arrest just two weeks after giving birth to her youngest child, a boy she named Ibukunoluwa, which translates to “Blessing from God.”

Alice was immediately forced to become both sister and mother to her new brother, who they call Ibukun, and took the lead in raising him the way she believed her mother would have wanted him brought up.

Now 10 years old, Ibukun lives in Atlanta, Georgia, with his father and stepmother. Over the years he has seen pictures and heard stories about his mother, but came to StoryCorps with Alice to talk for the first time about losing their mother.

William Chambers’ mother, Ceceley, is an interfaith chaplain who has provided spiritual support to seniors and hospice patients suffering from memory loss and dementia. Her work involves talking with people about their faith, listening to their stories, and praying with them--sometimes up to ten times a day.

Last year William, 9, went to work with his mother while she was visiting with residents of the Boston-area Hebrew Rehabilitation Center. Ceceley knew that many of the residents liked having children around, and they were thrilled to have William there.

At first William was afraid to go to the center, but his experience there left him pleasantly surprised. Among the residents he spent time with was a woman with end-stage Alzheimer’s disease who carried a baby doll with her that she treated like a real child. This didn’t faze William who told his mother, “I think people are free to think whatever they want to think.”

Since his initial visit, William has returned to work with his mother several more times. While Ceceley finds it difficult to say goodbye to the residents at the end of the day, they have taught her the “importance of being present, and the beauty of just little small moments.” William says that his time going to work with his mother has changed how he sees things as well: “They made me think, you should enjoy life as much as you can cause it doesn’t happen forever.”

They came to StoryCorps to discuss the affect Ceceley’s work has had on them both.

[Of the many residents Ceceley has counseled, she felt particularly connected to one man who would sing her love songs and tell her dirty jokes. Listen below to hear one of the love songs.]

Carmen Pacheco-Jones grew up in an unstable home and had stopped attending school by the time she was 13 years old. She was abusing drugs and alcohol, and throughout her childhood, she spent time in and out of more than a dozen foster homes.

Her drug and alcohol dependence continued into adulthood--even as Carmen started her own family. Her five children remember being raised in a chaotic home; that changed nearly 20 years ago when police in Washington state raided the house where the family was living. Following her arrest, the children were separated and placed in different foster homes.

At StoryCorps, Carmen sat down with her 27-year-old daughter, Jasmine, who was 10 years old when the raid took place, to remember what it was like when their family reconnected after being torn apart.

Today Carmen has been alcohol and drug free for 17 years and is a part of all of her children and grandchildren’s lives. This winter Jasmine is on track to graduate from Eastern Washington University with a degree in psychology and a minor in art.

During the 2016 presidential race, many families are finding their viewpoints incompatible with those of even their closest relatives. So rather than spend their time constantly arguing, they have agreed to just avoid discussing politics all together.

Jenn Stanley, 29, and her father, Peter, have experienced a strain on their relationship for years. Political discussions regularly leave them angry and frustrated with each other. Jenn, a self-described liberal who turns to yoga to clear her head, writes about feminist issues for various publications and produces a podcast about women’s rights. Peter, who relaxes by shooting his guns, works in construction and began voting Republican in 1980 during the Reagan revolution.

Whenever they are together and the news comes on the television, they argue.

When Jenn was younger, she considered Peter to be her best friend. She played softball--which she hated--because Peter liked baseball; he coached her team because he thought she wanted to play. But as she got older and left for college, their views grew further apart, making it difficult for them to talk about many of the things that are most important to each of them.

They came to StoryCorps to try to put their differences aside, and listen to each other’s points of view.

Alicia Beltrán-Castañeda grew up in Salinas, California, in the late 1960s. Her mother, Beatriz Béltran, was an immigrant from Mexico, and her father, Manuel, worked both as a foreman at a food packing plant and as an overseer of migrant farm workers.

Their family of seven lived in a small trailer, but by working multiple jobs, Manuel was able to save enough money to buy a plot of land on which he built a house. Alicia vividly recalls sitting on a 1950s metal stool in their living room, watching her father paint some of the walls goldenrod, and others Pepto-Bismol pink.

Manuel died when Alicia was 13, leaving their mother to raise the children alone.

Beatriz began working for the Salinas City Elementary School District as a bilingual liaison for Spanish-speaking families and the administration, and later became a coordinator for migrant worker families. Through her job, she saw the poverty many migrant families lived in.

Alicia was not as familiar with the lives of migrant farmworkers until she came home one day to find that her bed was missing--she was furious. With all of her older siblings away at college, Alicia had finally gotten her own room, and she loved her bed, which had a pink cover and lace dust ruffle. When she confronted her mother, Beatriz explained that she had given the bed to a family that had recently arrived in California from Mexico, and Alicia remembers telling her mother that she did not understanding why that was her problem. Without explanation, Beatriz told her to fill shopping bags with canned food from their pantry.

Together they drove to a house where Alicia’s bed now was, a one-room shack with a dirt floor like the ones occupied by so many other migrant worker families. There they met a woman who was laying on Alicia’s bed with her newborn baby surrounded by her four other children.

At StoryCorps, Alicia told her own daughter, Serena, 13, how meaningful that experience was for her.

When he was a young boy, Francisco Ortega’s parents left him and his siblings in Mexico and moved to the U.S. to find work. He did not reunite with them for three and a half years, joining them in Los Angeles in 1978 when he was 9 years old. At StoryCorps he talks with his daughter Kaya about his time in Tijuana, and the day he left.

On Christmas Eve 1956, Judy Charest’s mother drove with her to a bridge and jumped off into the cold waters of the river below. One of the men who helped rescue them that day was Harold Hogue. At StoryCorps, Judy and Harold discuss their first meeting -- when Judy was 3-months-old-- and their second almost 60 years later.

Kayla Wilson came to StoryCorps with her grandmother Teri Lyn Coulter-Colclasure in 2006 to talk about the impact of addiction and incarceration on their family. Ten years later, Kayla and her mother, Wendy Founds, released from prison, to talk about her return home.

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When bee season in New York City begins in early spring, that means retired police detective (and unofficial NYPD beekeeper) Anthony “Tony Bees” Planakis gets busy tending to his hives and rescuing swarms.

Tony Bees didn’t always love bees. In fact, it took a long time for his beekeeper father to convince him of their beauty. Ultimately, Tony became enamored with honey bees and even has a tattoo dedicated to his affection for them. He says it’s in his blood; he’s a fourth generation beekeeper whose family hails from Crete.

At StoryCorps, Anthony talked about what drew him to working with bees, and what he’s learned from them.

Tony retired from the NYPD in 2014. He now works as a private consultant and contractor removing hives and swarms all over the New York City region.

When bee season in New York City begins in early spring, that means retired police detective (and unofficial NYPD beekeeper) Anthony “Tony Bees” Planakis gets busy tending to his hives and rescuing swarms.
Tony Bees didn’t always love bees. In fact, it took a long time for his beekeeper father to convince him of their beauty. Ultimately, Tony became enamored with honey bees and even has a tattoo dedicated to his affection for them. He says it’s in his blood; he’s a fourth generation beekeeper whose family hails from Crete.
At StoryCorps, Anthony talked about what drew him to working with bees, and what he’s learned from them.
Tony retired from the NYPD in 2014. He now works as a private consultant and contractor removing hives and swarms all over the New York City region.

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StoryCorps gives people the chance to sit down together and have a conversation they’ve never had before. Five Mualimm-ak did just that with his son, Omar, who was five years old when his father was first incarcerated.

By the time Mr. Mualimm-ak was finished serving his sentence for weapons charges, he had been in prison for nearly a dozen years, many of those spent in solitary confinement. When he was released in 2012, Omar was a senior in high school. The two have had difficulty connecting since then. They came to StoryCorps together to talk about their relationship for the first time.

StoryCorps gives people the chance to sit down together and have a conversation they’ve never had before. Five Mualimm-ak did just that with his son, Omar, who was five years old when his father was first incarcerated.
By the time Mr. Mualimm-ak was finished serving his sentence for weapons charges, he had been in prison for nearly a dozen years, many of those spent in solitary confinement. When he was released in 2012, Omar was a senior in high school. The two have had difficulty connecting since then. They came to StoryCorps together to talk about their relationship for the first time.

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In the mid-1990s, Reverend Sylvia Bullock was raising two kids on her own near Washington, D.C. while working and going to college full-time.

Her teenage son, Marcus, saw how hard his mother was working — and how little they had — and decided to take matters into his own hands. He and a friend committed a carjacking, and although he was 15 years old, Marcus was tried as an adult. He served eight years for the crime.

Marcus was released in 2004. Since then he has created an app, called Flikshop, that makes it easier for inmates and their families to stay in touch. His mom works for his tech company as Fulfillment Manager and Mom-in-Chief. She received her Doctor of Ministry in 2008.

In the mid-1990s, Reverend Sylvia Bullock was raising two kids on her own near Washington, D.C. while working and going to college full-time.
Her teenage son, Marcus, saw how hard his mother was working — and how little they had — and decided to take matters into his own hands. He and a friend committed a carjacking, and although he was 15 years old, Marcus was tried as an adult. He served eight years for the crime.
Marcus was released in 2004. Since then he has created an app, called Flikshop, that makes it easier for inmates and their families to stay in touch. His mom works for his tech company as Fulfillment Manager and Mom-in-Chief. She received her Doctor of Ministry in 2008.

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Francine Anderson grew up in rural Virginia during the 1950s. It was the Jim Crow South and “Whites Only” signs punctuated the windows of many businesses. Francine came to StoryCorps to talk about one night when she became aware of what those signs meant for her family.

Editor’s note: This story contains a quote where a racial slur is used.

Francine Anderson grew up in rural Virginia during the 1950s. It was the Jim Crow South and “Whites Only” signs punctuated the windows of many businesses. Francine came to StoryCorps to talk about one night when she became aware of what those signs meant for her family.
Editor’s note: This story contains a quote where a racial slur is used.

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You may recall the voice of Dr. William “Lynn” Weaver from a StoryCorps interview he did back in 2007, where he talked about his father, Ted Weaver — the most important man in his life.

He later came back to StoryCorps to remember someone else who had a huge influence on him: his 7th grade science teacher, Mr. Edward O. Hill.
In the fall of 1964, Weaver was 14 years old and about to start his sophomore year of high school in Knoxville, Tennessee, when, along with 13 other black students, he integrated previously all-white West High School.

At StoryCorps, he talks about what happened on his first day at West High.

You may recall the voice of Dr. William “Lynn” Weaver from a StoryCorps interview he did back in 2007, where he talked about his father, Ted Weaver — the most important man in his life.
He later came back to StoryCorps to remember someone else who had a huge influence on him: his 7th grade science teacher, Mr. Edward O. Hill.
In the fall of 1964, Weaver was 14 years old and about to start his sophomore year of high school in Knoxville, Tennessee, when, along with 13 other black students, he integrated previously all-white West High School.
At StoryCorps, he talks about what happened on his first day at West High.

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StoryCorps gives people the chance to talk to each other about the events that have helped shape who they are. Josh Hanagarne did just that with his nine-year-old son in Salt Lake City, Utah.

Josh has an extreme form of Tourette’s syndrome, in which his tics — or involuntary movements and noises — have been so severe, they’ve put him in the hospital. He first started showing symptoms of Tourette’s when he was around the age his son is now.

One thing that helps Josh minimize his tics is when he is talking to someone. At StoryCorps, he sat down for this conversation with his son, Max.

StoryCorps gives people the chance to talk to each other about the events that have helped shape who they are. Josh Hanagarne did just that with his nine-year-old son in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Josh has an extreme form of Tourette’s syndrome, in which his tics — or involuntary movements and noises — have been so severe, they’ve put him in the hospital. He first started showing symptoms of Tourette’s when he was around the age his son is now.
One thing that helps Josh minimize his tics is when he is talking to someone. At StoryCorps, he sat down for this conversation with his son, Max.

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In 1964, Dr. William Lynn Weaver was one of 14 black teens who integrated West High School in Knoxville, Tennessee. At StoryCorps, he spoke about his experiences in the classroom and how difficult it was for him to get a quality education there.

Dr. Weaver also integrated the school’s all-white football team, along with other black players, including his older brother, Stanley. Here, he talks about what it was like to play for the West High School Rebels.

In 1964, Dr. William Lynn Weaver was one of 14 black teens who integrated West High School in Knoxville, Tennessee. At StoryCorps, he spoke about his experiences in the classroom and how difficult it was for him to get a quality education there.
Dr. Weaver also integrated the school’s all-white football team, along with other black players, including his older brother, Stanley. Here, he talks about what it was like to play for the West High School Rebels.

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During the 1940s, custodians who worked for the New York Public Library often lived inside the buildings they tended. In exchange for cleaning and keeping the building secure at night, the library provided an apartment for the custodian and their families.

Ronald Clark’s father, Raymond, was one of those custodians. For three decades he lived with his family on the top floor of the Washington Heights branch on St. Nicholas Avenue in upper Manhattan. Three generations of the Clark family resided in that library until Ronald’s father retired in the late 1970s.

After college, Ronald got a position as a professor teaching history at Cape Cod Community College.

At StoryCorps, Ronald told his daughter, Jamilah Clark, how living inside the library shaped the man he would become.

During the 1940s, custodians who worked for the New York Public Library often lived inside the buildings they tended. In exchange for cleaning and keeping the building secure at night, the library provided an apartment for the custodian and their families.
Ronald Clark’s father, Raymond, was one of those custodians. For three decades he lived with his family on the top floor of the Washington Heights branch on St. Nicholas Avenue in upper Manhattan. Three generations of the Clark family resided in that library until Ronald’s father retired in the late 1970s.
After college, Ronald got a position as a professor teaching history at Cape Cod Community College.
At StoryCorps, Ronald told his daughter, Jamilah Clark, how living inside the library shaped the man he would become.

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Maggie Marquez and Jessi Silva grew up in the desert town of Marfa, Texas in the 1950s. At the time, segregation of Latino and white students was not legal. However, Marfa’s school system — like many others in the Southwest — practiced de facto segregation, in which Latino and white children attended different schools.

In Marfa, Latino children attended the Blackwell School. Many of the students spoke Spanish as their first language.

Both Maggie and Jessi were students at Blackwell. They came to StoryCorps to remember the day their school banned students from speaking Spanish in a ceremony called the “burial of Mr. Spanish.”

In 2007, a group of Blackwell alumni, including Maggie and Jessi, returned to the school grounds, where they buried a Spanish dictionary and dug it up in a symbolic ceremony to “unearth Mr. Spanish.”

In recent years, a local organization, the Blackwell School Alliance — in partnership with Marfa Public Radio — is collecting oral histories featuring the voices of former students.

Maggie Marquez and Jessi Silva grew up in the desert town of Marfa, Texas in the 1950s. At the time, segregation of Latino and white students was not legal. However, Marfa’s school system — like many others in the Southwest — practiced de facto segregation, in which Latino and white children attended different schools.
In Marfa, Latino children attended the Blackwell School. Many of the students spoke Spanish as their first language.
Both Maggie and Jessi were students at Blackwell. They came to StoryCorps to remember the day their school banned students from speaking Spanish in a ceremony called the “burial of Mr. Spanish.”
In 2007, a group of Blackwell alumni, including Maggie and Jessi, returned to the school grounds, where they buried a Spanish dictionary and dug it up in a symbolic ceremony to “unearth Mr. Spanish.”
In recent years, a local organization, the Blackwell School Alliance — in partnership with Marfa Public Radio — is collecting oral histories featuring the voices of former students.

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On the morning of August 10, 1999, a white supremacist opened fire with a semi-automatic weapon at a Jewish day camp in Los Angeles. Five were wounded, including six-year-old Josh Stepakoff, who was shot in his leg and hip, and one person was killed.

Now an adult, Josh sat down with his father, Alan, to remember that day.

The shooter is serving two consecutive life sentences plus 110 years for multiple convictions. His actions were ruled a federal hate crime.

On the morning of August 10, 1999, a white supremacist opened fire with a semi-automatic weapon at a Jewish day camp in Los Angeles. Five were wounded, including six-year-old Josh Stepakoff, who was shot in his leg and hip, and one person was killed.
Now an adult, Josh sat down with his father, Alan, to remember that day.
The shooter is serving two consecutive life sentences plus 110 years for multiple convictions. His actions were ruled a federal hate crime.

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This is a story of two women brought together by an unintended consequence of the opioid epidemic. As of late 2017, as the number of deaths skyrocketed, about one out of every 10 organ donors had died of an overdose.

When 21-year-old Adam Shay overdosed on heroin in 2014, his pancreas and kidney were donated to a stranger, Karen Goodwin, who was a recovering addict herself. At the time of her transplant, she had been sober for 13 years.

Karen reached out to Adam’s mother, Marlene Shay, a year after his death. They sat down for this conversation at StoryCorps in Beachwood, Ohio.

This is a story of two women brought together by an unintended consequence of the opioid epidemic. As of late 2017, as the number of deaths skyrocketed, about one out of every 10 organ donors had died of an overdose.
When 21-year-old Adam Shay overdosed on heroin in 2014, his pancreas and kidney were donated to a stranger, Karen Goodwin, who was a recovering addict herself. At the time of her transplant, she had been sober for 13 years.
Karen reached out to Adam’s mother, Marlene Shay, a year after his death. They sat down for this conversation at StoryCorps in Beachwood, Ohio.

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The longest-running ice cream man, Allan Ganz, has been selling sweet treats since he was 10 years old. He shares with his wife, Rosalyn Ganz, how he got his start in the business and how he’s kept going for 71 years.

The longest-running ice cream man, Allan Ganz, has been selling sweet treats since he was 10 years old. He shares with his wife, Rosalyn Ganz, how he got his start in the business and how he’s kept going for 71 years.

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StoryCorps is launching a new initiative which brings people from opposite sides of the political divides to get to know one another. In summer of 2018, Tiffany Briseño and Israel Baryeshua met for the first time for such a discussion.

StoryCorps is launching a new initiative which brings people from opposite sides of the political divides to get to know one another. In summer of 2018, Tiffany Briseño and Israel Baryeshua met for the first time for such a discussion.

MR: I didn’t know besides, ’Good morning,’ and, ’What’s your name,’ when I came here. And when you were baby, I, I used to read to you the Dr. Seuss books. Like One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish. And that’s how I learned English, reading to you.

E: You know, I, I never really put in much thought that you were an immigrant. I just thought that, you know, you’re my mom. And I never thought that you would have to leave.

I was at school when my phone buzzed and I just saw the notification that TPS was going to terminate. And I remember I started crying.

MR: When you called me, I tried to calm you down. I am like, okay, this is happening. This is really happening. So I put myself together because I knew that I have to be strong for you. And I didn’t promise something that I cannot keep. So I didn’t promise you that everything will be okay. But I promise I’m going to make sure that you are okay.

E: What are you most afraid of?

MR: I…terrified of missing you growing up. It’s terrifying. I think that I’m more afraid of that than to go back to my country. Yeah.

E: I’m scared that I’m gonna have to do everything all by myself.

MR: You’re not going to be alone, I promise to you that. And I’m very hard to get rid of.

E: [Laughs]

MR: So I’m going to be on the phone all the time.

E: What are your hopes for the future?

MR: That I’m going to die of an old age and be the pain on your neck all the time. [Laughs]

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In 1969, Civil Rights leader Edwin Pratt was assassinated in his own home with his wife and daughter, Miriam, present. Miriam Pratt and her godmother Jean Soliz came to StoryCorps to remember the aftermath.

In 1969, Civil Rights leader Edwin Pratt was assassinated in his own home with his wife and daughter, Miriam, present. Miriam Pratt and her godmother Jean Soliz came to StoryCorps to remember the aftermath.